


Something Like Comfort

by girlpire



Category: Angel: the Series, Buffy the Vampire Slayer (TV)
Genre: Angst, Awkwardness, Biting, Exhibitionism, Ghost Spike, Light Masochism, Light Sadism, M/M, Masturbation, Melancholy, Voyeurism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-30
Updated: 2020-11-30
Packaged: 2021-03-10 06:08:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,481
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27789529
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/girlpire/pseuds/girlpire
Summary: A few minutes pass in silence while the room slowly darkens. Angel wonders if Spike is also watching the sunset or if Spike is only watching him watch the sunset. When the last bit of sun has sunk below the skyline, Angel asks quietly, "Why are you spying on me?" He doesn't turn around because he doesn't expect an answer, and for a long moment, there isn't one."Why do you let me?" Spike finally asks.
Relationships: Angel/Spike (BtVS)
Comments: 5
Kudos: 44





	Something Like Comfort

*  
  
Angel is sitting in his penthouse, his sketchbook lying open on his lap. He’s just drawn a picture of Cordelia in charcoal, her eyes closed, her mouth relaxed. She looks like she’s asleep – asleep in a hospital bed, her short, wavy hair spread across the pillow. He’s looking at this picture of her, and at the same time, he knows that someone else is looking at him.  
  
He knows, but he doesn't say anything.  
  
*  
  
Angel's reading a novel. He doesn't usually read fiction, but he recognized the cover art as a landscape he'd seen when he was still human, and he was feeling nostalgic so he bought it. The book is about WWII, and it's set in Ireland. He doesn't like the story very much, but the author is Irish, so at least the dialogue sounds authentic. Not that he's paying attention. He's thinking about his stalker, whom he feels watching him from behind, probably near the corner of the room. He sighs and tries again to concentrate.  
  
*  
  
Angel reaches slowly towards his alarm clock without opening his eyes. Before his finger lands on the snooze button, he thinks, _He's here again_.  
  
*  
  
Angel is heating pig's blood in a blue mug in his microwave. He's watching it turn slowly on the rotating plate, and he knows if he turns around right now, he's going to be looking right into Spike's eyes. He knows this.  
  
He doesn't turn around.  
  
*  
  
Angel's got his fingers wrapped tightly around the throat of a Hundati. He's slowly crushing the Hundati's windpipe, wondering dimly if his favorite sword will ever be fit for combat again after getting this guy's acidic guts all over it, and he realizes suddenly that the fact that Spike's been watching him this whole time from behind a nearby dumpster doesn't even bother him.  
  
He wonders if Spike thinks he's getting away with something.  
  
*  
  
Angel's sitting at his big desk in his big office. He's completely alone. It almost feels strange.  
  
*  
  
Angel is talking to Faith LeHane on the telephone. Her voice crackles down the line with static from Cleveland, but he can still hear her smiling, and it makes him smile too. She says something crude and there's a snort from the shadows off to his left. He pretends he doesn't hear it.  
  
*  
  
Angel's jerking off in the shower. He knows Spike is there, just a few feet away, watching him. He thinks about opening his eyes, looking right back at the ghost, acting surprised and outraged to catch him watching, but he doesn't do it. If he did that, Spike might not come back.  
  
He doesn't think about what it means that he's starting to want him there.  
  
*  
  
Angel tries to decide how long it's been since Spike started stalking him. He realizes it's been going on for longer than he first thought, but he can't actually remember the day it began. He knows it's been several weeks. He's so used to feeling him there, to being careful not to let on that he knows he's being watched, that now the times Spike really _isn't_ there feel weird and unnatural.  
  
He never realized how lonely he had been until he wasn't alone anymore.  
  
*  
  
Angel has things to say. It comes as a surprise. It's different, he supposes, when you've got someone you could potentially talk to. When you don't have anyone to talk to, you don't think of things you could be saying to them. But when you live with someone, when there's always someone in the same room with you, even if you're trying to pretend you don't know they're there, then you have to consciously stop yourself from musing out loud over stuff that happened at work, or little things you've noticed about humans that you'd never noticed before. Like how sometimes when you approach Wesley, you can still smell fear on him briefly before his scent settles into something more relaxed, and how you used to think it was kind of funny, but now it bothers you because it's like he doesn't quite trust you completely.  
  
He knows this is something Spike would understand, and there's something like comfort in the knowing of it, even though he doesn't say anything out loud.  
  
*  
  
Angel keeps a diary. It's mostly full of tiny sketches (Darla's mouth, Buffy's small hand clutching a stake, Connor's silhouette in profile) but he's started also writing down the things he would have said out loud if he were acknowledging Spike's presence. He's not sure why he does this.  
  
He leaves the little book out in the open. Sometimes, when he gets back from his office, it's in a different position from the way he left it. For some reason he gets satisfaction from this, but he tries not to smile because he knows he's being watched.  
  
*  
  
Angel hardly ever sees Spike at work. The ghost used to hang around him all the time, constantly arguing with him or trying to distract him from his job. Now Angel only sees him at meetings sometimes, and the blond is much more subdued than he used to be, quietly pushing a pen around on the table with one finger, only glancing up every now and then. He greets Angel with a nod and a murmured, "Peaches," as he walks into the office without opening the door, and he departs with another little nod. Angel almost prefers the more obnoxious version, because at least then he knew how to act around him. At least then they had some kind of relationship.  
  
In his diary, he writes, "Spike doesn't talk to me anymore."  
  
*  
  
Angel is sitting at his desk signing a letter when Spike walks in through the wall unexpectedly. Startled, Angel accidentally makes a stray mark on the page. He looks at it.  
  
Spike clears his throat. "There's a leak," he announces.  
  
"A... leak?" Angel repeats.  
  
"Yeah. The east wing dungeon. Leak in the ceiling. You should have it looked at."  
  
Angel nods slowly. "I'll tell janitorial," he says.  
  
They look at each other.  
  
"It could be evil," Spike offers suddenly. "An evil... leak."  
  
"It could be," Angel quickly agrees. "I mean, I wouldn't be surprised. If it were. Evil." He taps his pen against the desk.  
  
Spike nods. "Well," he says, "I'll just --"  
  
"Do you --"  
  
They stop and look at each other again.  
  
"What?" asks Spike.  
  
"I was just... do you want to --" Angel pauses. "Never mind," he says.  
  
"Oh." Spike shifts from one foot to the other. "Right. I'll just be... going then."  
  
Before Angel can say anything else, Spike slips back out of the big office, leaving him alone again. He looks down at the stray pen mark on his letter. He sighs.  
  
*  
  
Angel dreams about Spike. He can feel him all the time, even when he sleeps, so when Spike started appearing in his dreams, it wasn't a surprise. First he was just a side character, not integral to the plot at all. Now he's the star.  
  
Angel wakes up in the middle of the night, his cock hard against his belly. He doesn't open his eyes. He reaches down and wraps his fingers around it, squeezes. He's thinking about his dream, trying to remember the details of Spike's body, the things he said.  
  
The covers are twisted up around his legs like he's been writhing on the bed, and he pushes them down, kicks them away until he's lying there naked and kind of sweaty, hand on his cock working up and down hard. He bites his lip and spreads his knees apart, his other hand going down to cup his balls. He breathes shallow breaths through his nose and doesn't stop stroking, images of his dream flashing through his mind.  
  
There was... biting... and kissing, and touching and... tongues...  
  
His cock becomes slippery, his tight fist sliding quickly up and down.  
  
...Spike's voice, low and breathy, telling him what to do, where to put his hands...  
  
He moves one hand over to his thigh, digs his fingernails in. The memory of Spike's voice pushes him over the edge, and when he starts to come, he jerks his hand up, scratching himself hard while he shoots across his stomach. “Spike…” he groans quietly.  
  
For a moment, he thinks he hears his own name whispered back to him, but it's probably just part of the dream.  
  
*  
  
Angel doesn't feel Spike hanging around his apartment for the next two days. The whole place seems so empty. He doesn't really know what to do with himself.  
  
*  
  
Angel's standing beside the giant window in his bedroom, watching the sunset. He's thinking that he'll go out tonight, try to find something big to kill. When he feels Spike enter the room behind him, he's suddenly relieved that the ghost is back, and it irritates him that he was worried in the first place.  
  
A few minutes pass in silence while the room slowly darkens. Angel wonders if Spike is also watching the sunset or if Spike is only watching him watch the sunset. When the last bit of sun has sunk below the skyline, Angel asks quietly, "Why are you spying on me?" He doesn't turn around because he doesn't expect an answer, and for a long moment, there isn't one.  
  
"Why do you let me?" Spike finally asks.  
  
"I'm not letting you," Angel says. "You're just doing it."  
  
"You could have asked me to stop if it bothered you. I would have stopped."  
  
Angel turns to face him. "I was going to," he lies. "But then you left."  
  
Spike is standing there with his hands in his pockets. He looks somehow smaller than usual. "And everything was so much better," he says. Angel can't tell if he's being sarcastic or not.  
  
"It was just like before," he answers with a little shrug.  
  
Spike nods slowly and looks past Angel to the window. "Then I'll go," he says.  
  
*  
  
Angel kills something really big. No one sees him do it.  
  
*  
  
Angel watches Wesley, Gunn, Lorne, and Fred file out of his office after a meeting. Spike is on his way out as well, but Angel calls his name and he stops, turns around.  
  
He doesn't know why he stopped Spike. He doesn't have anything to say to him. "How are you?" he asks.  
  
Spike shrugs. "Still dead," he says. "Still handsome. Still make a whooshy sound when I walk through things."  
  
Angel raises an eyebrow. "A whooshy sound?" he asks.  
  
"That part might be in my head."  
  
"Oh."  
  
They stand there for a moment. Angel looks down and toes at the carpet.  
  
"So is that all?" Spike asks.  
  
Angel nods. "Yeah, I just... wondered how you were." When the blond turns to leave, Angel adds, "You could come back. Sometime. If you want."  
  
Spike tilts his head.  
  
"If you want," Angel says again.  
  
*  
  
Angel's drawing a picture of Doyle in his journal when he feels Spike show up somewhere behind him. He smiles.  
  
*  
  
Angel's jerking off in the shower. His eyes are closed, but he knows Spike is nearby watching him, and it turns him on. He works himself very slowly, his hand slippery with soap, his body turned slightly outward to give his silent audience a better view. When he comes, he scratches roughly across his chest, inhaling sharply as he catches one nipple on a short fingernail. The water stings as it runs down his body.  
  
"Why do you do that?"  
  
Spike's voice startles him a little. He opens his eyes and sees the blond standing there - right where he knew he would be, but it's still kind of jarring.  
  
"Why do I... what?" Angel asks. He turns to rinse himself off, his back to Spike.  
  
"Hurt yourself. You wank more often than you blink, and you do that every time."  
  
Angel shrugs, not looking at him.  
  
"Like it better when it hurts, don't you?" Spike presses.  
  
"I... yeah, I guess," Angel says.  
  
"Even when you're shagging someone?"  
  
"Yeah," Angel admits quietly. "But then ... it's better when the other person does it for me."  
  
When he turns back around, Spike is looking at him speculatively. The blond comes forward and reaches out, his hand pausing just above Angel's chest where the red fingernail tracks are. Then he lays his hand against the wet skin, slides his cool palm across Angel's sore nipple, and Angel swallows.  
  
"I'm here, pet," Spike says. "Next time just ask me."  
  
*  
  
Angel's lying on his bed naked. It's almost morning, but he hasn't been to sleep yet.  
  
"Slower," Spike tells him.  
  
Angel clenches his teeth, willing his hand to stop moving so fast. "Spike," he manages, "I've got to..."  
  
"Just a little longer, Peaches. No need to rush it."  
  
"It's been over two hours," Angel grits out. "Please just let me..."  
  
"Alright, let go," Spike commands.  
  
Angel releases his grip, and his hard cock thumps against his belly. He watches as Spike reaches for it, hand pausing a moment while he concentrates. Then cool, solid fingers wrap around him and squeeze. Angel groans.  
  
"You like it when I do this to you," Spike murmurs as he begins stroking Angel's cock. "When I watch you, when I make you wait. You like showing off for me, don't you?"  
  
Angel's eyes are shut tight, his hands fisting the covers at his sides. "Yeah..." he breathes. He's already so close.  
  
"Where do you want it?" Spike asks him, and Angel quickly brushes his fingertips over his inner thigh. "Yeah, that's a sweet spot," Spike says huskily. "I'm going to enjoy this."  
  
Angel glances up in time to see Spike change faces as he leans down. Then he gasps the ghost's name and comes hard to the feel of disembodied fangs piercing his thigh. "Oh, fuck... fuck!" he pants, shooting into the air and feeling it rain back down in small splatters across his stomach. "Spike... fuck..."  
  
Spike licks at the wound until his concentration breaks and his tongue dips through Angel's skin.  
  
Angel swallows. "Thank you," he whispers.  
  
*  
  
Angel’s sitting in his penthouse, his sketchbook lying open on his lap. He’s just drawn another picture of Cordelia in charcoal, and he's looking at her perfect eyelashes, at the shadows they cast on her cheeks. He's looking at her, and at the same time, Spike is looking at him.  
  
"It's better, isn't it?" Spike says suddenly, his voice quiet. "Better than being alone."  
  
Angel doesn't say anything right away. He thinks about the night before, about the past few weeks, about the weeks before that. After a long moment, he agrees softly. "It's better," he says.  
  
"Being with someone who... knows you. Who understands you. Even if you don't always like each other. That's better."  
  
"It's better," Angel says. "Better than being lonely."  
  
Spike nods once. He seems satisfied with Angel's answer. Angel goes back to studying the drawing.  
  
He feels Spike watching him. He doesn't say anything.  
  
*


End file.
